


Sandtrout

by koanju (verstehen)



Category: Dune Series - Frank Herbert
Genre: Discusses Incest, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verstehen/pseuds/koanju
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A balance of opposites</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sandtrout

_Maleficos non palieris vivere._

 

The Orange Catholic Bible

Leto watched his sister from the side of the Sietch cistern. He enjoyed the pleasure on her face as she played the way they had as children, if pre-born could ever be called such a thing. Truly, they were still children in body and any other gauge but mentally. Even the Fremen ignored their capabilities, these twins of Maud’dib, and he knew Alia, dear aunt, dear abominable aunt, had much to do with it. Her religion had infected the Fremen.

“Come away,” Ghanima admonished him gently. “Come away and stop thinking. Be a child with me for a few moments. The sandtrout are playful today.”

He smiled at her, appreciating the way the sun glinted off her golden hair like a halo. “As you wish.” Leto pushed himself out of his indolent pose and went to her. She offered a sandtrout to nudge around his hand into an Arrakeen glove and he took it for her sake. “We go forward, Ghani.”

“Not right now, Leto. Now we live, basking in sun and sand.” She smiled at him and he had no choice but to smile truly back. _Why is this happening solely to me? What makes me different from the one whom I shared a womb with? Is it the Kwisatz Haderach? Is it some gift of my father’s? Some sharing from when I gave him my eyes at birth? Some penetration of the mélange? Was Ghani, in some essential way, more resistant than he or his aunt to the voices and calls of time, of Jacurutu, of the Golden Path?_

“Leto!” Ghanima scolded, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You’re thinking of it again. Should I get your baliset?”

“I’m sorry.” He displaced her briefly to set the sandtrout back in the cistern. “Spared for another child.”

“What has you like this, Leto? Is it the dreams?”

“Yes and no. Alia’s received a message. I don’t know what it is.”

“Alia receives messages daily.” She leaned against him again, molding her body to his side. Was this how it had been in the womb? Warmth, heat, shared consciousness and a body pressed against his? “Was this one so upsetting?”

“You haven’t heard yet?” Leto slipped his arm around her waist. “I assumed Irulan would have told you.”

“I’ve been here, relaxing, since morning. I haven’t seen Irulan yet today. I’m certain she’s searching for us to tell us this news. What is it?”

“She read the message, screamed, and threw everyone out of the throne room. Even Duncan.”

Ghanima sighed. “They’re growing stronger.”

“Yes,” he agreed. _Abomination_. “We must discover the source.”

“The source of infection and abomination?” She laughed, turning her head against his chest. “The spice, of course. The spice in the womb. As it is with us.”

“But we are free of taint and -”

“For now, Leto. Only for now,” she interrupted him.

“And now is all we need, Ghani. We haven’t succumbed yet.” He rubbed her back with his thumb, a gently caress. She always enjoyed being held like this. Ah, Chani, my beloved. He stopped the motion, lest it bring out their mother in Ghanima against her will. She had been resisting the parent game recently, though whether her fear was deep possession or the burning desire for touch and consummation Leto did not know.

“No. We’ve had Alia’s example to thank for that.”

“And now something’s upset her greatly. She’ll be more susceptible now.”

“Irulan will ferret it out and find us.”

“I know, Ghani.” He sat quietly, holding her in the silence.

“We’re both sacrifices for the future, Leto.”

He nodded at her. “And we have our ancestors and the damned Bene Gesserit obsession for the _Kwisatz Haderach_.”

“The trap of prescience.” Ghanima twisted in his arms, holding him tightly. “Even Agamemnon was trapped by it. I wonder if we’re Cassandra’s get. That long-lost Atreides mother has been forgotten by time.”

“Not by us,” he told her softly. “Not if we have the courage and skill.”

Ghanima jerked back. “No!” She shook her head firmly. “No. No, Leto. You mustn’t.”

He laughed at her and took her rough hand in his own, pulling her back to him. “I don’t plan on trying.”

“Good.” She enfolded him in her arms again and Leto breathed in her scent deeply. She smelled of Arrakis, of the sandworms. Of the Scepter and the golden sun. She was part of his Golden Path.

“I am the Golden Path,” he muttered.

“I wish we didn’t have to grow up any more than we already have, Leto. Losing you is inevitable.”

“I fear seeing the future too, Ghani. That’s the trap the universe is caught in.”

“Our poor father.”

“He made his choice,” Leto said coldly. “Which is more than he left for the millions beneath him.”

“I know. I just…” She trailed off. “Wishing is useless.” Leto just stroked her hair softly. Nothing he could say could reassure her. “Leto.”

“Yes, Ghani. I know. They’ll want to breed us together to ensure the line.”

“I will not give birth,” she said resolutely. “Not with you.”

“The Fremen would revolt if you do.”

She pulled away and looked at me. “You aren’t going to push?”

“No.” Leto shook his head. “Why would I?”

“Because we are -”

He laughed, not at her statement, but at that she didn’t know. Their minds were closely entwined, both with the memories of the Others, of the past, and with each other. But there were times, like now, where one or both of the twins were reminded that they were two separate people with different thoughts, different wishes. _The Atreides live for the people and our coin is loyalty._ None of that mattered. “No, Ghani. Both of us on the throne? We’d be destroyed.”

“So you will go to Jacturutu.” She slid her small arm around his waist.

“I don’t know yet. I believe I will. But -”

“It depends on the contents of this letter.”

Leto nodded at her, still smiling. “Yes.”

“I’ll still not be livestock for the Bene Gesserit.”

He nodded. “I know. It’s good we’ve decided this now. It will be easier to fend off whatever attack they send to us if we’re in accord.”

“That’s probably what the letter is, Leto. It has to be.”

He tucked her head under his chin, seeking out the reddish strands of her hair and tugging them lightly. “Yes. Either the old women or the Guild.”

“It’s them. The Guild is firmly in Alia’s pocket. They would never send the kind of ultimatum to make her afraid. It’s the time of the testing. For all three of us.”

“To pass or fail as we will.”

“One of us will fail.”

“And it won’t be one of us.” He kissed the top of her head. Their resolve not to follow Alia’s path, not to become what she was…

It had to be enough. It would be enough.

You go forward, you go back, he thought. That is the crux of the Golden Path.

* * *

_Atreides men bear the burden of destiny. But we Atreides women bear the burden of carrying our men,_ Irulan thought to herself as she ignored the long-held pang in her chest. She was standing in the shadows, watching Ghani and Leto talk and touch. Everything she had wished for, dreamed about, or expected from her life had been denied her. _All I have left is my chronicle of Paul. Even those children are denied to me for they know their mother intimately even though she’s dead. _

Irulan looked away, giving the children privacy. Here at the Sietch they would be protected from Alia’s rage for a time. Not much time but enough that she could hold this knowledge - knowledge of what was coming for them as inexorable as death - for later, after Ghanima had teased and prodded Leto out of whatever dark mood he was in.

She slipped out of the den silently, back to the messenger.

Tall, dark-haired, consort of the Regent. Duncan Idaho.

“Did you tell them?” Irulan, after all these years, had learned to appreciate how Duncan’s mentat brain cut through all the layers of nicety and diplomacy. That wasn’t to say that Duncan Idaho wasn’t a political genius, for he undoubtedly was. No other man could have delivered the Fremen to Paul and Jessica when they wandered into the desert after the initial Harkonnen attack years ago.

“No. They were playing.”

“You must, Irulan. They have to know to be able to plan for what’s coming.”

“But not today!” She turned away from him, the fabric of her plain dress swishing as she turned. Even that was different from her youth. “Today they are children.”

“Those are no children, Princess. You do them both a disservice this way.”

“Is that the advice of Duncan Idaho or of Duncan Idaho’s mentat brain?” She wrapped her arms around herself, tired of these games. But a Bene Gesserit - particularly a Bene Gesserit on Arrakis expecting a visit from the Reverend Mother - had to be on her guard at all times. The Sisterhood had never had much use for Irulan, except as political pawn, and as she had fallen in love with Paul, though he and everything he had was denied to her, it had become easier to deny their whims and wishes. They’d achieved their ultimate end - the breeding of the Kwisatz Haderach. It was hardly her fault that the Sisterhood had never thought to put in place safeguards to ensure that their monster of prediction, their bred machine, would have absolutely loyalty to them.

Power corrupted so many.

It made others stupid and complacent.

Irulan, for the sake of the children, had vowed years ago to be neither.

“It is the advice of both.” Duncan sighed and she turned to look at him. He seemed as tired as she felt.

“Did Alia truly throw you out?”

Duncan’s face tightened, bringing his brows together and his lips white. “Yes. She kept only the priest Javid after receiving the letter.”

“It is good that our spy devices still work in the throne room, at least.” Irulan reached over and squeezed his wrist lightly. “I’m sorry, Duncan. Thank you for bringing us the news yourself.”

He relaxed slightly. “I had little else to do, Princess. If you don’t wish to tell them, I will.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s my duty. I simply wanted to allow them a few more moments of privacy. They’ll see little of it after the ship lands.”

“They’ll see little of it their entire lives,” Duncan corrected. “Tell them now.”

She bowed her head. In her head, she knew he was right. And as nursemaid to the future rulers of the Empire, she had to follow just that. “Yes. Go back to the capital. You’ll send us word if more news comes?”

“Of course, Irulan.” Duncan nodded at her and turned away, not waiting to see if Irulan would do what she said. He already knew she’d follow through.

* * *

As Duncan strode into the throne room, he wasn’t surprised to find Alia gone. She had become strange lately, taken to talking to herself and dismissing people at random.

Nothing like the tantrum she had pulled today. That was nothing like her at all.

She was losing control. His mentat-trained eyes saw a cloud, a dark cloud, around her. Irulan was useless. She couldn’t even deliver a message correctly and the twins… Their inheritance was becoming less secure every decision Alia made.

Duncan tried to help, tell her the truth about what she was doing.

But she never listened. She was too steeped in the religion of Muad’dib and the adoration that came from being a deity’s sister.

He turned and left the throne room, heading for their private quarters. Paul would know how to control her. He had before, when they’d found her practicing with eleven blades. Duncan himself never tried that many.

She was so reckless, his wife. She was his. “Alia?”

“Duncan?” Her voice floated out of the bedroom. He walked in. She was spread out, sweating and naked. “Where did you go?”

“To Sietch Tabr to see the twins.”

Alia laughed and sat up, her hair glistening as it spilled over her shoulders. “Your spies are effective as always.”

He joined her on the bed, reaching out to touch her hair. “They have to be to protect you.”

“Are you saying I take risks?” She laughed again and leaned in close.

“Rule is risk, Alia.”

“And aphorism is the retreat of the mindless.” She kissed him, lightly, and moved to get out of bed. “I refuse to be mindless.”

_But you want the populace to be. Monotony leads to control. Or to rebellion. That is the purpose of religion. But to which end, Alia? To which end are you bringing the Atreides?_

“Shall I call everyone back now?” she asked, pulling on a robe and smiling.

Predators showed teeth in much the same way.

* * *

_Why won’t you shut up! _Alia screamed as the cacophony only got louder. Some screamed to pull Duncan closer. Some to push him away. Some to kill him. Some to mate with him. All disagreeing, all the time, never ending, won’t it stop please!

“No,” Duncan was saying. “They’ve already gone and you’ve lost your opportunity today, Alia. Besides, we have plans to make.”

“Oh, yes, plans. Plans for our guest.” _Abomination, desertion, abomination._

I am not afraid! She screamed at the chant.

“The Lady Jessica will require delicate handling,” she told Duncan, pulling her robe tighter around her body. She’d been exercising away her rage before he’d entered. It was arousing. She enjoyed how lithe her body was, even now, twenty years later. Bene Gesserit arts! If only the Bene Gesserit knew what they’d created with her! If Paul was the Kwisatz Haderach, Alia herself was something even more unprecedented.

_Unique! _

The voices all cried with her own. In this, they agreed. She was alone. Brother, mother, father. All gone. Even the twins. The were preborn.

They weren’t like her.

She was alone. Except for the voices.

And she was afraid of the voices.

“Alia?”

She looked over at Duncan. He was sitting in the bed, looking at her. Her Duncan.

She had work to do. Her mother was coming.


End file.
